The French countryside bathed in an orange ash smeared dawn. A wasteland of mud and bodies replaced the once lush fields and forests filled with wildlife.

Johann wandered down the line with a stoop while men cowered in their holes. Letters decorated the earthen walls. Bayonet fixtures held them in place for the medics to take when there was nothing left. The common infantry man stared at him in bewilderment.

A Jäger, a hunter of men on the battlefield.

The fresh trenches were not as deep as the myriad surrounding Verdun or other regions where the fighting had been going on for months or even years. Still, German engineering instilled basic necessities and housing for the thousands of troops and support personnel that wandered along the middle to rear sections of the front.

Johann pulled out the periscope from Hans’ rucksack and peered over the trenches, down the light incline to where the enemy had dug themselves in. A crisscross of lanes allowed them to operate on a defense in depth tactic should the German forces take the first line. He stepped away from the visor and nodded to Hans. From there he had an excellent position with numerous options for him to take.

“Splendid,” Hans said, setting his bag down and taking the periscope. “Let’s give them a German good morning and be on our way. It’s mail day, so let’s take a detour on our way back.”

“You wrote her another letter?”

“What else am I going to do out here but write every day how much I miss her?” Hans stepped up to the wall. “Katarina invited you over for dinner, you know. It would mean a lot to us for you to join us next time, and she does makes the best soup east of Berlin.”

“And west of it?”

“Our company cook, no doubt,” Hans said with a chuckle.

Johann remained silent as he inspected and reassembled parts of his rifle. Happy couples reminded him of Charlotte. He didn’t want to think about her or the fate of the people he killed. One minute you’re alive and breathing, the next you’re dead in a ditch and nobody cares.

“Let’s see if we can spot an officer,” Hans began, peering through the scope. “Perhaps an American officer. Let them get a taste of the front line after coming all this way.”

Johann blinked, grabbing a handful of bullets out of his pouch. He cocked back the lever and plucked them into the chamber. “You seem a little too eager to come face to face with them.”

“This isn’t the wild west,” Hans snorted. He turned the box to take in the curve of the front. “These cowboys will not come charging in at the last minute and save the day. We’ll be celebrating Christmas in Paris and I’ll bring a case full of wine back to my darling.”

“I’m sure she’d prefer the wine to you,” Johann said. His lips curled into a grin for a moment before folding back into a line. Out of the half dozen friends he knew from university, only Hans remained. Each new day became bleaker than the last.

The war stole four years of his life and any future he dreamed of. Johann couldn’t imagine returning to his astronomy studies and picking up as if nothing happened. He received a leave over the New Year to prepare for the great spring offensive and found his way back to Königsberg. The roads and shops became faded memories and turned him into a foreigner in his own home.

Hans squeezed his shoulder and drew him out of his troubling thoughts. They shared a moment of silence.

“Let’s get it over with,” Johann mumbled, turning his attention back to the ridge.

The early hours were the best. With the sun against their backs, it made it difficult for the Entente to spot them. Johann cupped a heap of dirt and smeared his face and hands over. Blending in kept him alive and his white skin would only be a giant target. He replaced his helmet with a uniformed hat. The light blond hair needed to be tucked in to help meld with his surroundings. He stepped onto the ladder and glimpsed over the parapet with his own eyes. A thin bush obstructed him but the charred frame allowed him to peer through. The first line of trenches were a death pit he avoided at all costs. It’s also where most of the French spotters would keep watch for assaults. Camouflaged sniper shields were set up as safe alternatives to his risky play, but moving along the line gave him a fresh perspective.

Johann pulled the rifle off his back and cradled it in against his shoulder. He breathed in through his nose and peered through the scope. The French lines suddenly appeared much closer, as if he were standing a few feet away without the soldiers on duty recognizing him.

“Quadrant F. Third line, just left of the barbed wire,” Hans announced. “Mortar crew, 800 meters out.”

He skimmed over the tops of metal helmets. They could be real people or traps designed to pinpoint sharpshooters. Johann adjusted the scope to 800 meters and found the group of soldiers huddled together. They were busy carrying mortar equipment forward and stopped for a break. “Target located.”

“Take the shot.”

Johann licked his lips and squeezed the trigger when his line of sight became obstructed. The image sharpened, and he made out a woman standing in the trenches with her back to him. “Invalid target. Civilian in my crosshairs.”

“Say again.”

“There’s a woman standing in front of the target. I can’t take the shot unless she moves out of the way.” Johann cursed, searching for the other member.

The woman spun around and stared in his direction. His heart froze as he got a good look at her face. The reticle centered on her chest and she somehow picked up his intentions and laid a hand where he was aiming. Long black hair swayed in the breeze and framed intense green eyes that shimmered with the morning light. A remarkable beauty at the wrong place.

Johann eased his finger off the trigger and leaned back from the visor. A cold sweat broke out across his brow and he took a deep breath. He couldn’t get himself to shoot her, even if that meant taking out a mortar crew that would end the lives of his comrades in the hours to come.

“Negative on the civilian,” Hans shouted. “Targets are clear. They’re getting ready to move again. Take the shot!”

He cursed, picking up his rifle and found the mortar crew again. Fortunately, there was no sign of the woman. He wrapped his finger and the trigger and squeezed. A quick jolt bumped the stock into his shoulder while the snap of the shot rang in his ear. The mortar crew perked up in time for the bullet to burry itself in the lead man’s chest. Johann cocked the next round, centered on the rear target and took the second shot before the soldier knew what was happening.

The soldier’s jaw fell open, hands reaching to his gut as he fell face forward into the mud. All around Frenchmen sprang up to where they had fallen and inspected the bodies from a distance, careful not to expose themselves.

Johann watched the scene for a few more breaths in case an officer showed up and eventually decided not to risk it. The French deployed sharpshooters as well and, however unlikely, they might have spotted the muzzle fire. “Let’s pack up and go. I don’t want to stay here and wait for them to pin down our location.”

“Hold on,” Hans said, continuing to peer through the periscope. “There’s a lot of commotion going on the other side.”

“Of course there is, I just took out two of their guys.”

“Across the entire line.”

Johann’s attention snapped back to the escalating scene playing out in front of him. Thousands of soldiers swarmed out of their bunkers and filled the trenches. A closer look revealed their true colors. Americans. A sense of dread eased its way into his bones. “We need to get out of here, right now.”

It began to rain.

Thunderous metal rain that plowed through the defenses and tossed up limbs through the air. A barrage that worked its way from the rear to the front. The screaming grew, and he froze.